Feyre's Solstice
by RiaAndHerCourt
Summary: Will be 2 parts


In the Mortal Lands, the seasons blended in succession. But in Prythian, especially the in Spring Court where she spent so much time, the weather was stagnant. Time almost felt frozen.

Spring, summer, fall, winter. In Prythian the seasons were divided into courts, but in the Mortal Lands, winter had finally arrived. Even as painful as winter had become, prey and money scarcer than usual, Elain always roused us to cheer for the winter solstice. For the one day, Nesta limited her scowls to a minimum, Elain sung, and my father gave us all ornate wood carvings.

Outside was spring, as it had been every day before. It was midmorning, and the Flirfurfs, bird fae, chirped outside incessantly. She glared, and a moment later the birds grew silent.

"You shouldn't terrify your subjects," said a silky voice behind her.

Feyre spun around. "And you shouldn't sneak up on the lady of the court. Or even be here! It's not _your_ time now," she spit out.

The High Lord before her fixed his piercing blue eyes on her, a playful smirk on his face. "That was our time. Besides you can always spend more time with me. We are friends, of course."

Feyre snorted, meeting his gaze with an expression that said she disagreed.

"Just spend one evening with me," he said.

"Ask in two weeks."

"Come on," Rhys urged. "One evening. Won't Tamlin let you out if you ask nicely?"

She didn't bother replying.

"Aren't you at least curious about what I got you for the the solstice?"

"Don't you High Lords have some celebrations for the solstice?" Feyre asked, ignoring the bait. Even if she was curious.

The Night Lord shrugged. "It's at the Dawn Court. I don't care to go for certain reasons and I'm sure Tamlin is too selfish to share you."

With even more willpower, she resisted comment.

He stared at her for a long minute. "Feyre… Please. I want to show you my court. We may not host this year, but winter and night are so closely tied. I want you to see it. I want you to feel it. I want you to understand it."

Maybe something from the solstice softened Feyre, because she found herself consenting to his request.

"One evening. That's it," she said.

Rhys nodded, a mix of happiness, surprise, and triumph for once clear on his face before his easy mask fell back.

He held out an arm, the perfect gentleman. "Then let's go."

Rhys could be sly, sarcastic, and so narcissistic that sometimes Feyre was convinced none of it was an act. He could be so petulant that he was absolutely intolerable, and sometimes he was so cold she wondered if he had no soul. But when he flew, carrying her because she couldn't fly, it was very hard to hate the Night Lord. In many ways, Feyre was free. Free of hunting, free of poverty, free of duty to her family, free of her weak mortal body. But never did she feel more free than during the four hour flight to the Night Court. Rhys had initially tried to slow the pace, but Feyre egged him on until he sped up to about half his full speed. Of course, she hadn't known it wasn't his full speed until the time she fell out of his arms and he had to dive to catch her.

The air was cool as they flew over the ocean.

"I hope you know I didn't get you anything," Feyre finally said to break the silence.

"Maybe," he replied.

"Maybe?" she echoed. "I'm telling you I didn't."

Rhys shrugged, causing Feyre to panic and cling tighter before realizing he wasn't dropping her. She loved flying, but the fear of falling never faded.

Rhys laughed. "I'm not going to drop you. As much as I appreciate this, you don't need to be so afraid."

Feyre growled slightly, attempting to move away, but his arms had already adjusted to hold her more tightly.

They traveled over the ocean to avoid ire of other courts. Every time they crossed over, Feyre wished she had her canvas to paint the horizon. It was obvious to Feyre that attempting to replicate the image afterwards would never capture the feelings perfectly though, so why bother?

Finally they arrived at the door of the Night Castle, situated impossibly between two mountain peaks. It had long since become pointless to question the differences between magic and illusion in the Night Court, where shadows dancing could stem either from fae that fed on fear or fear itself.

Because Feyre shoved Rhys away the moment his feet touched the onyx floor, she was unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

The Night Lord, eternally unphased, chuckled. "You could've waited another moment. It's not that bad to be held by me, is it?"

Feyre just huffed, ignoring the outstretched hand while pushing herself up off the floor.

Another chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes," he continued, capturing her hand as soon as she stood up.

"Don't look at me like that," he said in response to her fierce gaze. He shrugged his luminous wings back inside. "I'm taking you somewhere you've never been."

This warranted an eye roll as she rushed to meet his stride. "Where? Your room?"

"Precisely," he said, not speaking again until they reached a high tower.

In the few weeks Feyre had spent at the Night Court, she had never been to Rhysand's personal chambers. Maybe if he asked she would've refused, or maybe he cherished his privacy too deeply to be willing to share it with the former human. But this sudden decision gave Feyre no time to decide or question, only do.

Once they entered the rooms, it became utterly clear that these fit the Night Court ruler. Elegant, dark, and lavish. Dark blue accents and fierce purple torches dotted the stone block walls. He took her further into the suite, into what was clearly his bedroom. Decorated more sparsely, the bed was clearly the centerpiece, with tall spires on the four posts and what looked like the moon for a pillow and the night sky for sheets. When he saw her focus, he laughed, causing her to blush.

But the bed did not hold Feyre's attention for long. Farther across the room, where the stone walls were, was a giant hole to the outside. It was as though some fiend had torn through them, causing several to fall out and others to crumble.

"When we finally escaped," Rhys began in a soft voice, "I was glad to be home. But as high up as I knew I was, I awoke one night tortured by… nightmares. I needed some way to convince myself I wasn't back under there, in her bed, trapped…"

Feyre almost asked him why he didn't cover it then, but she felt as though she almost knew why.

"You're right," he said.

She glanced at him, surprised.

"Apologies," he murmured. "You were projecting; I didn't aim to pry. But I don't think I can close it until the dreams go away.

"But that's not the point," he continued. "I wanted you to see this."

He gestured towards the hole before walking with Feyre towards it.

"Sit."

"If I tumble out that window and die, Tamlin will kill you," she grumbled.

"Now, now," he replied with another small laugh. "Your ghost could do the job on its own. But you won't fall out."

Another eye roll, but Feyre sat.

"This is what I wanted you to see."

As Feyre peered out, it was hard to understand what Rhys referred to at first. In the distance, it looked like there was simply a golden glow between far off peaks. But as the minutes ticked by, the cloud of light got closer and larger until Feyre was able to make out individuals in the swarm. Some wore elaborate costumes of plumes and tails, while others wore black cloaks. Every single one of them held a torch.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"My people. Every solstice they gather and they fly to the castle, dressed in any costume they please. I am meant to greet them, and to tell them that even as day grows after tonight, we must rejoice, for we are strong and eternal. And then they come in, and they revel and dance all night."

"Then why do they hold the torches?"

"Because even as we revere the longest night, we recognize and almost embrace day. For as long as light and day will come, night will return. And this is what I wanted to give you, Feyre. I wanted to show you my court's hope. Quiet strength and eternity. That is what we are, and that is what we dream."

Feyre continued to watch, entranced by the lights that slowly paced forward. This _, this_ , she would paint when she returned to… her court. Her home.

"I miss them," she said.

Rhys cocked his head toward her.

"My family," she continued. "I think I hated them. And I think at least a part of them hated me. But I miss them deeply. Especially today."

He placed an arm around her shoulder, drawing her in. A motion that so often she would attempt to shrug off, but the tiny part that lived in sorrow embraced.  
"And I know I can't. I can't see them today, or tomorrow. Or ever. And maybe I would hate them more if I saw them, or them me. But I miss them."

Rhys hushed her, the way one would a small child. "You love them. And as painful as it is, it's crueler to deny it."

"You," she said abruptly.

"Hmm?" Rhys murmured, sounding a thousand miles away.

"What were you writing on my arm?" Feyre demanded in a quiet voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you do this. You trace things on my arm, and I can't quite make them out."

He let out a soft purr. "And what letters are those?"

She sighed. "I can't tell. U, V, L, O. It's a rather poor way to communicate."

The only reply he gave was "Maybe."

By this time the crowd was still a mile out, still moving at the slow, enchanting pace. Rhys shifted slightly towards Feyre.

"I am… very pleased I got to share this with you," the Night Lord whispered.

Feyre shrugged in response. "I still didn't get you anything."

But all Rhys did was shake his head and move a hand slightly towards her face, as if timid.

"To me, your understanding is the only gift I wished for."

Perhaps he would've said more, perhaps Feyre would've replied. But in that second, a great flying beast appeared before the pair, and Tamlin roared.


End file.
